Hanging on and letting go
by AriesTaurus
Summary: SOmetimes, hanging on means letting go. WARNING: supporting character death


He stands with a hand resting on the polished wood, the stiff breeze slapping his coattails open, almost lifting his tie out of his jacket. If not for the wind, the day would have been blistering hot. He squints in the bright, late afternoon sunlight but doesn't move to put on his sunglasses. At least, the sun stinging his eyes is a good excuse for the tears he feels burning. Not that he needs one.

A particularly strong gust manages to steal his tie from his jacket and he carefully tucks it back in, always leaving one hand on the wood, keeping a constant touch . The black and white paisley motif feels just a bit rough under his fingers. She loved that tie. It's the only reason he wore it, today of all days.

He can still picture her offering it to him, a twinkle in her eye. A Christmas gift, she'd said. He'd made some crack about it coinciding with Hanukkah in the near future. He'd found the plastic stick hidden inside the folded piece of cloth and hadn't taken more than one second to guess what it meant.

He'd actually broken down at the sight, flooded by so much love and happiness and joy it had taken his breath away.

The pregnancy had been a dream, through which both had sailed, their feet never touching the ground. He vividly remembered her crushing grip on his arm, the joy dancing in her eyes when she'd announced her water had broken. True to form, he'd turned into a nervous wreck while she'd stayed perfectly composed as he drove them to the hospital, lights and siren blazing.

It was then the dream had turned to a nightmare, one he wished he'd wake up from but knew he never would.

He'd known loss before. He'd known pain and grief before but never like this. Never had he experienced this depth of sorrow, this kind of soul-tearing loss.

He's hardly spoken to anyone since that night, going through the motions, nodding when needed, shaking hands, putting on the right suit with the tie she had given him.

He's never wanted to ask why. He knows there isn't a reason and no use in looking for one.

He simply puts one foot in front of the other, doing what he has to. He will keep doing so because that is who he is. He's needed, so he'll be there. And he hopes, with time, he can heal.

He knows he will, every time he looks into her eyes. She's the only reason he hasn't crossed that line he swore he never would. She's the only thing holding him back from the edge of the cliff.

"Don. I'm sorry but... She needs you."

"It's all right," he says, his voice low and gravelly. He lets his hand fall from the polished wood and turns, unable to help the shadow of a smile ghosting his lips.

"C'mere, sweetie," he says softly, extending a hand to cup the tiny head. He tenderly lifts his infant daughter into his arms and rocks her gently, hushing her. "Shh... S'okay. Daddy's here."

"She has her mother's eyes."

He looks at his mother-in-law and smiles, the expression not reaching his eyes. "She got them from you, Mrs Brooks."

"Anna, please, Don."

Don nods marginally. "She has my hair, though," he says, toying with one of his daughter's soft curls. "I was so afraid I'd hate her," he murmurs, tears tracing a path down his cheek.

"Why?"

He hears the shock and incomprehension in her voice and he understands, he really does. It doesn't make sense to him either but he really was afraid of it, for a very simple reason.

"Because she took Robin away from me."

He shakes his head and looks straight into Anna's eyes, stalling her protests. "I know it's not true, not really. She didn't cause anything. She was just born, minutes before her mother died."

He closes his eyes, lost in a memory so strong it physically hurts. He sees Robin's smile, matching his own as they gaze on their newborn child, sees the smile fade and her face lose all color, and stark against the infant's quieting cries, he hears the splash of blood, too much blood on the floor.

He remembers being ushered out of the room, the small weight of his daughter in his arms, fear thicker than blood in his throat. He remembers his father's smile fading into concern when meeting his eyes, the pride of being a grandfather overshadowed by the fear in his son's eyes.

I'm sorry.

The doctor's words ring hollow and never-ending and suddenly he's lost between unfathomable grief and complete joy. He's a father. He has a beautiful, perfect daughter. He's a widow and a single parent. Because Robin is dead and he's alone.

She opens her blue green eyes and he remembers he isn't alone, that no matter where Robin is, she'll always be a part of him and a part of her lives on in the child in his arms.

He brings his daughter's face close to his, the wetness of his tears dried on her cheek. Margaret Brooke Eppes will never be alone in this world, he swears to it. He'll hold on, for her.

"I promise," he whispers, brushing his hand onto the polished wood of the coffin one last time. It's time to let go.

Fin


End file.
